Go Team, Go!
by A Beautiful Sleeper
Summary: What something means in one language can have a completely different meaning in another.


Go Team, Go!

It was a sunny day in early October, and things were really looking up for Veneziano. He was certain that Ludwig would always be his friend; he'd had a really nice lunch of three-cheese lasagna, prepared by his brother Romano; and Alfred had just been telling him about this game of football that was supposed to be taking place very shortly. Veneziano hadn't played a good game in a few months, as he'd spent a long time with his friends Kiku and Ludwig on that island and there hadn't been any rocks suitable to kicking around. He was looking forward to getting to play some, and maybe show Ludwig that he was capable of not surrendering when put under pressure. Football was, perhaps, the sole exception to his surrender rule. Alfred had also assured him that he'd bring some of the other countries to cheer him on, and make sure that they were dressed appropriately for the game. He told him that the time would be kept a little strangely, but it would be okay. The time wouldn't matter so much once the game started and he got the feel of the lush field (or rough dirt, it really didn't matter) under his feet and got his first touch on the ball.

Upon his arrival at the stadium, Alfred was there to escort him to the locker room to change into his gear. Veneziano was starting to get pumped up, could feel the adrenaline beginning to flow through his veins as he walked down the dark, cold hallway to the locker room. However, when he finally arrived at the light at the end of the tunnel, a feeling of intense befuddlement washed over him as he saw many burly men putting on all kinds of pads on their shoulders, and in all kinds of other places. They had helmets of some sort, and long pant-type things instead of shorts. There were so many of them, and some of them were throwing around some sort of pointed brown ball thing. What kind of football _was_ this? Alfred patted him on the back and gave him some brief instructions for how to put on his pads, and scuttled off. This was most definitely _not _what Veneziano had planned on doing that day. He couldn't even remember what Alfred had told him to do to get his pads on straight, and thus put them on in a very haphazard manner, with one side much looser than the other. He found a spare helmet on top of the lockers and pulled it on, hoping he would not get stuck. At first, he'd put it on backwards, and by the time he had it on straight almost all of the other men had left through yet another tunnel. He followed them up towards the light once more, and emerged onto a large, green field with numbers painted on it every little bit. The crowd was roaring as they walked on the field, and the players waved and did a weird fist pumping motion. Veneziano copied them, hoping that no one would catch on and try to fight him, as he had nothing suitable for turning into a white flag.

He could hear a band playing somewhere in the stands, and saw a sight so strange that he might not have believed it even though he did see it. On the sidelines wearing short skirts and low-cut tops while waving pom-poms half-heartedly were Ludwig, Roderich, and Romano. Waving his pom-poms with a good deal more enthusiasm was Francis, who appeared to have also made a few adjustments to the cheerleader's uniform, especially to the length of the skirt. Francis stood blowing kisses to the crowd, who were just lapping it up. Veneziano shook his head and ran over to Ludwig, asking him to help him with an escape plan. But right when he started to take off, one of the overly muscular men seized his shoulder and dragged him over to a huddle behind the bench. Veneziano began to shake in terror, as he was sure that when the scary man who appeared to be in charge was discussing the tackling and "puttin' a hurtin' on them fools" that he was speaking of Veneziano and his cheerleaders. This was soon forgotten, however, because the scary man was yelling at him to get on the field and go get him a win. How was he supposed to do that when he wasn't even sure they were playing a game? Or perhaps this was a battle of some sort, and they were opposing armies going into hand-to-hand combat? One never knows with crazy Americans.

Now the man in the center of a line of players was yelling numbers in no apparent sequence, and the ball was coming back to him…wait a minute, the ball was coming to _him_? He just barely caught it, and was soon tackled to the ground by the opposing team.

"I surrender! I surrender! Please don't hurt me!" he wailed, trying his best to flail his arms and legs around in order to remove the three men atop him. A whistle blew, and the referees (Thank God! There are referees in this mayhem!) began making odd arm movements, which seemed to cause the men to realize the wrong they'd done in attacking an innocent person as himself. They got off of him and returned to their positions in the opposing line. The man in the center was shouting non-sequential numbers again, and the ball came to him again. This time, he had a better grip on the ball, and took off running forwards with it. Thanks to all the running in fear that Veneziano usually did, he had no issue outrunning all of the opposing players, and even the players that were on his team, to the big yellow y-shaped thing at the end of the field. Based on the way the crowd was screaming, he guessed he'd reach home base and couldn't be tackled anymore, as it was a safe point. He was so relieved that he practically collapsed onto the ground, but was careful not to lose contact with the pole. His teammates were so busy celebrating, they didn't even notice that he was, essentially, a nervous puddle near the field goal thing. The cheerleaders were cheering for him, especially Ludwig and Francis.

The rest of the game went on in a similar manner, with the ball always ending up with Veneziano, who was very good at running away, scoring time after time for his team. His team ended up winning the game, 44-7. Alfred came down from the stands with a nearly bored into a coma Arthur, who still looked rather like he might start spontaneously drooling again at any moment.

"Hey, dude, great job out there! I didn't think you'd be such a natural! That was a great game, wasn't it Arthur?" he exclaimed.

"Eh? What? Yes, yes, whatever…," Arthur replied in his flat, bored tone of voice.

"And Ludwig, man, I didn't know you'd get so into the spirit! I just thought you'd stand there awkwardly next to Francis and look uncomfortable. But you cheered, dude! And looked uncomfortable," Alfred commented.

"Yes, well, don't get used to it. This outfit is so distressing I don't even know where to start," Ludwig grumbled back.

"Well, for starters, these colors don't match your coloring in any way. You need to get more sun, like moi. And your skirt is simply not in fashion, it's too long! Show off some leg, Ludwig!" Francis intoned.

"Well, thank you Alfred for this experience. However, I don't think I'll be trying it again any time soon. All that running away really takes the energy out of a person," Veneziano said.

"Hey, man, any time you wanna have another go, you just say so. I'll hook you up, yo!" Alfred offered. He and Veneziano shook hands, and they all went out for some refreshing pasta to recover from the rather traumatic event.


End file.
